Ron Weasley and the Cursing Star
by Jazriot
Summary: Ron is cursed with the life he envied. Starts before the first tournament in Goblet of Fire.
1. Default Chapter

Ron Weasley slumped into a chair in the Gryffindor common room. His world famous and former best friend had just stormed up the spiral staircase to bed. Ron tenderly poked at his forehead. The SPEW badge Harry had pitched at him had left a small cut. Not really a cut even, more like a paper cut. It wouldn't scar, but it stung more than something so small ought to.  
  
"There's no use sitting here feeling sorry for myself," Ron murmured even as he sunk deeper into the cushions. "Really, I just said that because I'm sure Harry would. He's not the brooding type. Does everything about me have to be about wanting to be him? And now I'm talking to myself like I'm nutters. Brilliant."  
  
With great effort Ron heaved himself out of the chair, out of the common room and down the marble steps, leaving Gryffindor Tower and Harry Potter sleeping.  
  
By himself Ron was a shadow, easily escaping the confines of Hogwarts without anyone noticing him. After all, when did anyone notice him? Bitterness sat like a semisweet chocolate on his tongue. He stalked the grounds like a ghost, grass frosted between his toes. Irritated and restless, he squinted up at the stars and found himself insignificant under the enormity of the night sky. His breath occasionally clouded his view. It was far too brisk to be outside in pajamas. Some silly dampness was gelling along his eyelashes.  
  
"I wish I could be as great and important as Harry Potter," he told the stars, folding his hands into his armpits to keep them warm.  
  
"Ron? What're yeh doin' out here? You'll catch yer death."  
  
Ron nearly jumped out of his skin as a large hand rested on his shoulder. Hagrid, with Fang at his side.  
"Yeh been crying?"  
  
Indignant, Ron rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. "No! It's only the wind ..."  
  
Hagrid nodded knowingly and smiled. "Come on back to the cabin, I'll make some tea."  
  
Ron's brain started to fuzzy up with exhaustion once he was inside Hagrid's cabin. He dozed off before even sipping a drop of tea. When he woke up it was morning and he was back in Gryffindor Tower. Something was a bit off, though. He tugged open the velvet hangings and found that he was in the wrong bed. "Ha, Hagrid. Thanks."   
  
Ron shifted to get out of bed and found that his pajamas were ... different. They fit. It was a strange sensation. "What on earth," Ron muttered as he wrestled out of his covers. At that moment Colin Creevey hurried over to him. "Good luck with the Tournament today, Ron!"  
  
"Er . . . ok," Ron blinked. "Shouldn't you be talking to Harry about this?"  
  
Colin stared at him. "Harry? Who?"  
  
Ron nearly fell back into bed out of shock.   
  
"Anyway, I have to get to breakfast. I'll see you later, Ron!" And with that Colin was gone, leaving Ron dumbfounded and alone.  
  
Ron dressed so inattentively he wasn't sure it was his own uniform he was wearing. He hurried down the stairs, avid to tell someone about Colin's clueless behaviour. He wasn't talking to Harry of course, but Fred or George might get a laugh out of it. A few Gryffindors he didn't know very well patted him cheerfully on the shoulder, but there was no sign of his brothers or sister anywhere, including the Gryffindor table. Seeing as Hermione was lacking Harry, Ron easily took a seat next to her.  
  
"Hermione, you'll never guess what just happened," he smiled as he reached for some toast.  
  
Hermione looked up from her porridge, frowning at him guardedly. "What," she whispered.  
  
Ron's face scrunched up in suspicion. "What's wrong, Hermione? Aren't you my friend, too?"  
  
"Have I ever been?" she replied, a shadow of the girl he'd known. Her face was fragile and pale, almost lost in her mass of stubborn hair. This wasn't his courageous friend. This was the girl who'd been sobbing in the girl's toilet first year.  
  
"Ok. Fine. Just tell me if you've seen my brothers and Ginny?"  
  
Hermione shrugged and stared at her porridge as if it were fascinating to her. "I didn't know you had any living family, sorry."  
  
"Right. I don't know how Harry convinced the whole house to treat me like a freak today but I've had enough of this. Where is he?"  
  
"Harry . . . Potter?" she questioned, an odd expression on her face.  
  
"Yeah Hermione. Harry Potter."  
  
Hermione's small index finger pointed towards the Slytherin table. There, talking intensely to Draco Malfoy, was Harry. 


	2. Chapter Two

"I'm having a nightmare," Ron sputtered. "That's the only explanation."  
He pinched his own arm and a curious, small fear clutched at his heart. His head felt too heavy for his neck and so he rested it on the table ledge. "Any moment now I'm going to wake up . . ."  
  
Hermione had stood up and was brushing the toast crumbs off her front. She looked at him for a moment and then sighed. "You think you're so funny, always pulling tricks on me."  
  
Ron didn't bother to lift his head. "I'm not the one playing tricks. Something really bizarre is going on."  
  
Hermione's face twisted up into a tiny bit of concern. This wasn't the same boy who had teased her for the past three years. He seemed kinder, and sadder. It was very bewildering.   
  
"Maybe you should go see Dumbledore?" she offered, hesitantly.  
  
Ron sat up suddenly. "I know! I'll see Hagrid, maybe he'll have an idea."  
  
Hermione stepped back. "You're going to go to Azkaban?"  
  
Ron gaped at her and swallowed hard. "Hagrid's in Azkaban?"  
  
Hermione's eyes were downcast and sorrowful. "Of course."  
  
The silence born from those words seemed to run down the entire table, squelching any noisy excitement about the forthcoming Triwizard Tournament. Hermione hovered, unsure of whether she should stay or leave.  
  
"It's not Sunday, is it?" Ron mumbled.  
  
"Um, no," Hermione replied.  
  
"I'm . . . Hogwarts Champion in the Tournament, aren't I?" he whispered.  
  
"Along with Cedric Diggory, yes. Most of the school is vouching for him, I'm afraid. Even most of Gryffindor . . ."   
  
"And you?" Ron almost couldn't bear the answer he anticipated and shut his eyes firmly so he wouldn't have to look at her.  
  
She said nothing. When he finally cracked his eyes open she had fled and a flimsy looking Support RON WEASLEY badge was resting on his empty plate.  
  
  
Ron muddled through his morning classes in a haze, finding himself back in the Great Hall far too promptly. He prodded at his food unenthusiastically, trying to make lunch stretch out into the next decade. And then Professor McGonagall rushed over to him.   
  
"Weasley, the champions have to come down into the grounds now . . . you have to get ready for your first task."  
  
Ron stood up silently and followed her. A measly few "Good Lucks" and a many "Don't get killed" flittered after him.   
  
"Now don't panic," she said as Ron felt a panicky aching build up inside his chest, "just keep a cool head . . . we've got wizards on hand to control the situation if it gets of out hand . . . the main thing is just do your best, and nobody will think any worse of you . . . are you all right?"  
  
"No. I don't think so," Ron groaned as they approached the edge of the Forest where a giant tent had been pitched.   
  
--  
  
Ron wasn't a champion.. He was lucky to be alive. He grimaced up at the hospital wing's ceiling as his failures replayed through his mind, bigger and bleaker in the revisiting. He was an incompetent idiot, and now he had a dead Hungarian Horntail on his conscience and an arm to regrow.   
  
Madam Pomfrey came in, followed by Hermione and Dumbledore. Ron's face burned with shame and he looked away.  
  
"It's all right, Weasley. Everyone thinks you did the best you could under the circumstances," said Hermione.  
  
"If that's what everyone thinks why hasn't my family even been up to see me? Where's my mum? Are they that ashamed of me?"  
  
Hermione blinked, confused. Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened with surprise and Dumbledore's brow furrowed with worry. Finally Madam Pomfrey plucked something silver off a tray and gently forced it into Ron's remaining hand. It was a mirror. Ron looked to them for some sort of explanation. They couldn't seem to speak, but their eyes said something he didn't want to hear.  
  
Shakily he raised the mirror to his face. There, under a bit of fringe, was the envied scar; a lightning bolt across his forehead and through his heart. The mirror shattered to the floor.   
  
Ron felt like he couldn't breathe. His mouth and nose were working but the air just wasn't coming through. He laughed - a perverted sound - and buried his face into his knees. Ron would cry but the tears refused to come. Instead he just laughed and laughed, strangled and desperate noises scratching the air like nails on a chalkboard.  
  
Unsure fingers curled their way into his hand in a courageous act of comforting. There was Hermione, crying because he could not.  
  
"Thanks," he uttered, his voice cracking and dying with the gratitude. 


	3. Chapter Three

Author's notes: My apologies for not indicating whether this story is going to continue or not. I think this probably has a few more chapters in it after this one. I'll try to update regularly. Thanks for reading. :)  
  
***  
  
Winter came on hard and fast. It seeped into everything. There was ice in every stone and a sneer in every eye. Ron found himself ducking into darkened nooks and the library more often than his old self would have ever thought possible. Anything to avoid the questions. The tricks, the jeers. The sophisticated terrorizing. Anything to avoid thinking about his family. He tried reading, but it all ultimately led back to something Ginny had loved, something Fred or George had been bored by, something his mother had scolded him about.   
  
Sometimes Hermione would sit with him, looking up curses and enchanted anomalies that might explain his shift in reality.   
  
"You really ought to see Dumbledore about this, he's sure to know what's going on . . ." Hermione insisted, slamming a book shut and causing a puff of dust to rise into the air.  
  
"He'll think I'm mad," Ron grunted, his nose in his sleeve.  
  
Hermione glared at him, her face turning redder with every second. "Instead you'll just let yourself get killed at the next challenge? How stupid are you!"  
  
Ron's face lifted from his arms and he blinked at her. A small smile ran across his face. "Now that's the Hermione I know."  
  
Hermione flushed furiously and looked away from him. "I don't know why I bother worrying about you, you'll do whatever you . . ."  
  
"Whatever I?" Ron prodded before noticing Hermione's change of focus. Draco Malfoy was grinning down at them snootily, his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron sighed, resigned to another miserable day.  
  
"Not everything in the world is about the infamous Boy Who Lived, believe it or not." Draco drawled, eyes flickering with amusement. "I'm here to talk with Hermione."  
  
Ron's eyes widened in outrage. "Leave her alone, I'm warning you! If you try to hurt her in any way I swear to god I'll kill you!"  
  
Draco blinked, amazed. "Two words, Weasley. Psychiatric Evaluation." The blond Slytherin turned his attention back to Hermione. "Can I borrow your Potions notes? I fell asleep."  
  
Ron was horrified to note a darker blush creeping up into Hermione's face as she . . . giggled?   
  
"Only you could get away with that in Snape's class. Um, sure. That's no problem."   
  
She fished around in her heaps of books and scrolls, finally extracting some papers and passing them to him.  
  
"Thank-you," Draco bowed faintly, casually shambling out of the library with the notes tucked under his arm and ignoring the venomous glare Ron was throwing at his back.  
  
"Now what was that all about?" Hermione hissed. "Do you want even more problems for us? Draco is one of your few defenders!"  
  
If Ron's eyes were capable of falling out of his head they would have done so at that very moment. "What? All he's ever been is a bloody nuisance!"  
  
Hermione bit her lower lip hard in frustration. "He's a bit spoiled, sure . . . but he's never been anything but decent towards me."  
  
"He's using you. Does he get you to do his homework for him, too?"  
  
Hermione pouted and hunched into herself. "At least he's always acknowledged my existence. Which is more than I can say for you or anyone else here up until recently," she spat. Ron couldn't stand the sound of spite in her voice.  
  
"Look, Hermione, I'm not the same Ron - "  
  
"I know, I know. That much is obvious. Let's just drop it."  
  
Ron hesitated and then nodded, closing his eyes and slouching forward to rest his head on the table. He finally allowed his memories to prove Hermione's claim. Draco Malfoy was not one of his tormentors. Ron hadn't noticed earlier because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had picked up whatever slack Slytherin had left in the ritual torturing of outcasts. For some reason the truth that should have been a pleasant revelation instead left him feeling queasy. He sighed and pushed his face into the crook of his elbow, letting the partial blockage of air lull him into slumber.  
  
  
"Wake up, Ron," a gentle shake.  
  
"Mum?"  
  
"Yes. You were having a nightmare, love. You woke up just about everyone with the racket."  
  
Long lost tears finally found their way into Ron's eyes as he stared up into his mother's soft face. "Oh God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  
"Woah, it's not that big a deal. I had to go to the john anyway!" Fred offered from the bedroom door.  
  
Feathers brushed at Ron's cheek as Pigwidgeon offered some concerned hoots and snuggled into his face. He was even grateful for his most annoying owl. His Cannons posters. Having everything he had taken for granted back was like a miracle. Or some cheesy Muggle movie. Whatever. Ron's heart felt about ready to rupture with happiness.  
  
"What was your nightmare?" Mrs Weasley inquired.  
  
"It was just awful. Vol-You-Know-Who had killed all of you and I was the . . ."  
  
"Boy Who Lived?" came a sleepy voice from across the room.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Harry yawned and sat up, rubbing at his eyes before poking around for his glasses and sliding them onto his nose."Who else?"  
  
"I sure am glad to see you."  
  
Harry smiled dismally and stood, stalking over and scooting in next to Mrs Weasley. But when had Harry gotten so tall? And old?  
  
Ron scrunched up his face in confusion. "Harry? You look all grown up!"  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows comfortingly. "Yeah, I do. But everything's going to be fine, Ron."   
  
  
"RON! Would you wake up already? You sound like you're suffocating yourself!"  
  
Ron blinked blearily and raised his head from his arms. "Huh?"  
  
"Thanks to you we're getting kicked out of the library!" Hermione whispered furiously, as if no greater tragedy had occurred since man walked upright. It was all Ron could handle just to stumble to his feet.  
  
"That was just . . . cruel," he breathed as they tottered through the halls.  
  
"I know!" Hermione groused. "How are we supposed to get our homework done in the common room. Honestly!"  
  
Ron said nothing. He fell to his knees and retched instead. Hermione gasped and promptly dug out a handkerchief from underneath her robe and passed it to him. Ron sat back on his heels, flushed and dizzy. He wiped at his lips with the handkerchief and whispered a strained thanks. Hermione's bottom lip started to wobble in a curious way.   
  
"Your dream?" She was trembling.  
  
Ron ran his tongue around his teeth. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans weren't very accurate after all.   
  
"My curse," Ron said finally. 


	4. Chapter Four

Author's note: Oh my, I bet you all thought this story was dead. It's not. I've just been having a terrible time lately with fanfiction.net and other things. Sorry. Now that I'm out of school I should have more time to write. :)  
  
It was midnight. Ron and Hermione were scrunched together under an Invisibility Cloak, carefully going through books in the Restricted Section of the library. The cloak had been a gift from Ron's godfather; Lucius Malfoy. Thinking about his godfather just about turned Ron's stomach. Every day seemed to give Ron a new reason to feel queasy. If only he could be back where he used to be.  
  
"Ron, what about this?" Hermione whispered, holding a book up near to the lantern Ron was holding.  
  
"Muggle Fairy Tales and Mighty Myths. Er, I don't know Hermione. Why would the muggles know anything?"  
  
"Magic encompasses the world, Ron. It's not limited to wizards and witches. For instance, my mother is a muggle; but she's got the most amazing luck . . . which is really a sort of magic in and of itself, don't you think? Anyway, she once wished on a star for - "  
  
"Wait a minute. Wished on a star?"  
  
"Yes. You know," and at this Hermione started to sing softly, "When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are . . . when you wish upon a star your dreams come true."  
  
Ron simply stared at her, eyes bulging. "Hermione. I didn't know. That's what's got me into this mess! I made a bloody wish on a star!"  
  
Hermione boggled, shaking her head like a dog shaking off fleas. "You're kidding me. You didn't know? Don't they teach anything in wizarding families?"  
  
"Yes! They teach wizardly things! Not stupid Muggle songs!"  
  
"It's not stupid! Pretty mighty of you calling something stupid considering it's your own ignorance that got you into this situation! Honestly!"  
  
Ron sputtered for a moment, then stopped. And finally took notice. "Hey, Hermione . . ."  
  
"What?" she spat back, furiously.  
  
"I didn't notice, I mean, I didn't know . . . you're cute when you're angry."  
  
It was like diffusing a human time bomb. Hermione's face softened in an instant. "Really?"  
  
Ron nodded. "Yeah. You're pretty cute all the time."  
  
"Ron . . ."  
  
They stared at each other, letting the lantern's glow wash the blushes from their faces.  
  
Then they both looked away, at approximately the same time.  
  
"Um . . ."  
  
"Well . . ."  
  
"You really ought to go wish everything back to the way it should be, right?" Hermione said.  
  
"I guess so, yeah."  
  
But maybe I don't want to go back anymore.  
  
After all . . .  
  
In the back of Ron's head had always been the idea of him being second best. And while he had avoided dwelling on how he felt about Hermione most of the time, he always knew that if it came down to being a battle between him and just about anyone else for her affections, he would lose.   
  
But in this altered reality, he was first rate. Only surviving son of a pure-blood Wizarding family that was murdered by Voldemort. Rich off his godfather's back. He had a lot more to offer her. He no longer felt like his heart would be a complete and utter burden to her . . .  
  
"Sky's overcast tonight. I'll try it tomorrow."  
  
Hermione blinked and nodded, unaware of the turmoil in Ron's head.  
  
How can I even be contemplating keeping things like this? Wasn't I desperate to go back up to a minute ago? My family. I can't very well go on without them. But Harry does seem pretty happy in Slytherin - and now his parents are alive, too. If I change this now, it's like I'm murdering them. God, Ron. You sure know how to make a mess of things.  
  
Abruptly, Hermione gently took Ron's available hand into hers, letting her thumb tickle the palm of his hand. There was a jolt in Ron's brain and then all his thoughts stalled. Hermione was holding his hand. That's all that mattered. 


End file.
